Body Of Proof
by Princess Pinky
Summary: What does Sherlock Holmes prove by saving Irene Adler from her execution? Well, he's about to find out.


**A/N: **I can't even tell you how hard I am shipping this right now. Why isn't Irene on the character list yet?

_**Body Of Proof**_

"So much for your 'proof.'"

"Excuse me?"

Irene dropped to bended knee, surveying the severed head of the man who had ordered her execution. She let her finger come centimeters from the skin, which still had a fine sheen of sweat across it. The man had never even seen it coming and in a single thrust, he'd dropped to his knees, never to walk away. "Your 'proof,'" she repeated. "That love is a disadvantage. In one word: _me_."

"I just saved your life," Sherlock replied. He peeled off his disguise, one garment at a time as he spoke. "And the reason you needed saving in the first place was because you were hopelessly – pathetically – in love with me."

"_Sherlock."_ The black robes she wore dropped to the ground, revealing her battle gown in full. "You still haven't the faintest idea what love actually is, do you?" She stepped towards him, taking in the crevices of his own armor. "You think you bested me, but I've had a lot of time to think."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. And I'm willing to concede to a draw."

"And why would I entertain that?"

"Because we're equals, you and I. We have the same strengths as well as the same – as you call them – 'disadvantages.'"

"You used the name of your _crush_-" he spoke the word contemptuously "-as your pass code."

"And you slunk into the bowels of depression over my alleged _death_."

"That proves nothing-"

"That proves _everything!_" She spread her arms wide, like the wings of an archangel. "Use that delicious head of yours, Mr. Holmes. You wouldn't have been here to save me _if_…"

"If _what?_" he demanded. His chest inflated as he took a threatening step towards her.

"_Think!"_ she hissed, practically salivating on the word. The silence, for once, made it impossible to. "One miniscule pill…and you just_ had_ to know."

"How do you know about that?"

"How do you think?" Irene stepped in closer, moving the pad of her index finger to touch the center of his forehead. "It was a power play, no different than the one I played with the royal family. No different, in fact, than the ones I play every time I'm in the bedroom." She retracted her finger and dropped her eyes lower, lower, lower. "The difference is, I don't pretend mine are something they aren't. It's win or die and I have always accepted the risk." She locked onto his gaze once more. "Have you figured it out yet?"

"I'm here because it would have been a tragedy to let a mind like yours rot on a terrorist cell floor."

Irene grinned. "No, you're here because John Watson loves you."

"He's not-"

"Gay, I know. Such a simplistic view of love, Sherlock. Frankly, I'm disappointed. He shot a man from two buildings away to save your life and you doubt his love for you? I can't say that I blame you, though. I understand your confusion; as I said, we're one-and-the-same. You were right: I _do_ love you. And _you_ love _me_."

"Preposterous!"

"Then why did you come to save my life?" she immediately volleyed back. "You jumped through hoops to save my life, help me fake my death, and give me the protection that I seek. This whole elaborate scheme!" She swung her arm through the air. "Admit it: you love me. Just as John loved you enough to save your life; just as you love John enough to save his, over and over. And therein lies the advantageous crux: you'd be dead if it wasn't for John and I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."

"You're more of a sentimental fool than I thought," he scoffed.

"Oh, but you can't deny that I'm _right_, can you?" She touched his left nipple with the tip of her red lacquered nail. Keeping her eyes level with his, she swirled the pad of her finger around the pink circle of flesh just once. "You're as attracted to me as I am to you. _Admit it._"

"Put your clothes on," he demanded, motioning towards the bag of clothes sitting on the ground within just a few feet of the headless corpse.

"Piloerection."

"What?"

"You heard me." Irene's right eyebrow arched. "Goosebumps," she said simply. "My touch makes the hairs on your body stand on end," she grinned, indicating the pimpled flesh on his chest. "Mr. Holmes, we won't be seeing each other again. At least, not for a very long time…so have dinner with me."

"Your thesis is that love is advantageous because it allies people. Essentially, two working together is stronger than one against one."

"Yes…"

"Then why do you want to have dinner with me?"

Irene pursed her lips. "I like dinner."

"I like proof. So prove your theory to me."

"How?"

"How do you think?" Sherlock brushed his thumb against the underside of her wrist. "_Make _dinner with me."


End file.
